


To Suffer For One's Art

by DarkDee



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Blood Drinking, Blood Magick, Bloodlust, Cutting, Insanity, M/M, Slice of Life, Wishful Thinking, angelic, demonic, hardcore male sex, mad lust, men who love men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 16:42:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1655390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkDee/pseuds/DarkDee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For my friend, PussNHikingBoots.</p><p>I can't help but feel these actors have deep, possibly dark feelings for each other in real life. I was an actor once - I know what it's like to get lost in a character, to seek those characteristics in the reality - to not find them and feel lost without them. I project this on to Mads Mikkelsen and Hugh Dancy as I fantasize, in writing, a fiction filled with my favorite topics of all: blood lust and beautiful men.</p><p>The scene: The daily shoot is over. Hugh and Mads relax together, share some cognac and find out what crazy is all about. After all, what's a little blood between friends, eh?</p><p>This story is about bloodlust and the heat of these two men who, in my mind, are extraordinarily into each other in ways none of us can imagine.</p><p>-Dark Dee</p><p>The art belongs to me, I am also D, the artist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Suffer For One's Art

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PussNHikingBoots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PussNHikingBoots/gifts).



 

  
  


END SCENE

"Cut, that's a wrap. Good work, people. 6AM call, see you in the morning, thank you."

The director sips the last of his hours-old mochaccino, rubs his eyes and mentally prepares to unwind. It was a long, tiring day and all the actors were spiritually burnt to a crisp.

Directing the two of them is a pleasure - the professionalism on both their parts is bar none. Their chemistry, on the other hand is more than mysterious…while being a director's dream come true, these two men seem to share something secretive - much like the characters they play.

Mads Mikkelsen, ordinarily a jovial spirit, seems uncharacteristically thoughtful, perhaps even somber. The director notices this and approaches him.

"Everything OK, Mads?"

Mads, whose accent is still softened by the affectation of Lecter, replies, "Yes. Just a little bit pensive. Nothing to worry about."

Forcing a smile to his lips that would convince the director that he is still indeed the happy go lucky Dane, he combs a hand through his barely mussed hair and waits for his well polished 'all clear' look to penetrate the director's psyche.

The director, noticing the undiminished accent, says jokingly, "It's OK, Mads. You're not Lecter anymore." Winking, he turns and sloshes down the last bit of his cold coffee. A day was a day.

Wardrobe knew better than to break down too soon after Mr. Dancy and Mr. Mikkelsen performed a scene together. Though it wasn't standard procedure, actors were still quirky bits of talent, and whatever they did to either unwind or suit up was their business. As fate would have it, these actors had a tendency to unwind on their own - together, on set.

Click clack go the master lights, leaving HANNIBAL'S OFFICE in the dark. Working lamps allow the actors to sit peacefully in semi-realistic lighting. And so they sit, facing each other, the men who would become television superstars. And yet, in this moment, on this darkened set, both men sit there only semi-aware of their fame, their fans…one donning the look of the ruffled, unbathed professor while the other sits immaculately dressed and buttoned up to the nines, hair slicked into place, entwined fingers upon elegantly trousered, folded legs. These are good looking men; it isn't a prerequisite for their parts, it is television. They had to dazzle, and they did. They dazzled each other.

Mads sits in his chair - the same one he always sits in while he is Hannibal the cannibal psychiatrist, analyzing patients. Hugh pours them both a drink from the crystal decanter that was delegated a non-prop. Remy - the two of them shared a personal stash. Mads preferred cognac to armagnac - then again, it wasn't an endangered bird he intended to drown - it was a sadness born of yearning made palpable and felt in earnest by his closest acting partner, Hugh. They both felt it and it tasted like dissatisfaction, incompletion…perhaps even wrongness.

Both actors sit opposite each other, in what looks like the dim evening of the LECTER MANSION INTERIOR. It was beginning to feel painful to act these scenes, and it took so much out of both of them. All the hate, the trickery - all of this balanced so brutally with the love, the scripted attraction…it was going to be hard to experience the betrayal, even as mere players. After all, these were the players that brought Will and Hannibal to life - they had invested their lives in bringing life to a concept, a dream…a nightmare, a vision.

After swirling, sniffing and sipping, Hugh speaks with his American accent.

"It's funny. If the fans had their way, we'd be kissing instead of killing each other."

Mads drains the last of his snifter. "Well, I'm a big fan. Aren't you?"

Hugh smiles. Not a big, happy smile, but a smile that teases, his head lowered. "You think we should kiss, don't you? You dog. You're undressing me with your eyes as we speak, aren't you?" He is kidding, of course, but Hugh is a playful actor and Mads enjoys the devil that lives inside him.

Mads purses his lips; his own smile more enigmatic. He looks around the room, his eyes darting back to Hugh. He speaks.

"We're all alone. Everyone has left for the night. Why not suffer a little for our art?"

Hugh can't tell if Mads is serious or not. Mads was a poker face master; one could never tell if he was bluffing. Still, a life in the theatre was a life of bodies, flesh, odors, nakedness and more than an unhealthy dose of inappropriate behavior. He remembered a time when a fan came backstage to see him. Naked at the time, he scratched his balls and extended his hand to the young woman. "It's a pleasure," she said, blushing beet red. In theatre, the line between natural and debauched was almost nonexistent. God alone knew what theatre life was like in Denmark; In Britain, raunch was as common as was the stench of filthy underclothes in a backstage dressing room after any given performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream. What would be the crime in a little kiss between friends? That is, of course, if Mads is indeed serious.

Hugh approaches with the decanter; two more fingers of non prop alcohol in Mads' glass.

"Mads, do you want to kiss me?" Hugh asks purely out of genuine curiosity.

"Do you think that Hannibal would ever kiss Will?"

Hugh answers quickly, his voice shrouded in dark tones. "Yes."

Mads looks deeply into Hugh's reflective blue eyes. "I think Hannibal would kiss him…and more." He places his glass on the side table.

"Are you coming on to me, Dr. Lecter?"

Changing the subject at whim, Mads asks, "Hugh. How do you feel about the ending we've worked on?"

Hugh, taken aback but easy with the change of topic, explains that it hurts, that it doesn't feel good. That as hard as he tries to love his character for doing what he is doing, he can't help but feel robbed of what he ironically feels is the most romantic character portrayal of his entire life. He knows he'll never get another role like this, and he knows he secretly wishes there was a beautifully filmed kiss - even if it ends in one of the character's death.

Laughing, he adds, "And I love how the fans all imagine me as the bottom. As if. "

Mads laughs. "It's the same with me. They all believe I'm sane in real life. How they fantasize, these fans."

Hugh raised his eyebrows. "It's true. You've always kept me guessing. Wasn't always sure of how far you'd go. I suppose that's worked for us."

"How far do you think I would go for my art?"

"I'm certain you'd go the distance," Hugh says, swallowing hard, noticing Mads eyes on him. He breaks into a light sweat. Mads makes no disguise of his sexual interest. Hugh can't help but part his lips - it excites him to see this kind of behavior coming from Mads.

Mads stands up to face Hugh. They stand so close they can smell each other's flesh. They breathe each other in. There's a kiss just there, but it hasn't occurred yet - it's waiting, right between them, waiting to be made real. Mads opens his mouth and allows his breath to warm the lips of his co-star. With his hand, he cups Hugh's face, allowing his thumb to cleave the wet corner of the other man's open mouth. Unsatisfied with a mere tease of a wet corner, Mads dips his thumb a bit deeper, feeling his friend's teeth. Hugh obliges, letting his mouth slacken. Mads watches his thumb in Hugh's mouth, while Hugh watches Mads eyes watching his own thumb. He licks it, sending chills through Mads.

"Suck it," whispers Mads. "Let me watch this."

Hugh has been made aware now of his power. He holds on to Mads' hand and captures his eye, while he wraps his raspberry pink mouth around the man's thumb and sucks, softly, the tip of his tongue shining, his eyes closing as he hears Mads' moan low in this throat.

Hugh moves in to kiss Mads but Mads stops him by placing his dampened hand over Hugh's face. Holding Hugh's head, allowing Hugh to see through his fingers, with his other hand Mads brings up a familiar prop - yet another real item, dangerous, sharp and only handled with utmost care: the scalpel.

Hugh's eye widen, shifting back and forth between the glint of stainless steel and the mischievous eyes of his friend. Mads releases Hugh's head but keeps his hand right before his eyes as he gently slices into his own palm with the scalpel. Mads' slashed palm is about two inches from Hugh's face. He drops the scalpel on the side table and grabs Hugh with his free hand around the back of his neck. Forcing Hugh to watch him, he opens his mouth and slowly darts his tongue to lap at the newly sliced and bleeding flesh. Hugh's heart is racing, he can't believe what he's watching - he can't believe how much he _loves_ what he's watching. This is new, this is beyond what he'd expected.

Mads smiles, his teeth are covered in blood, his lips are dripping with liquid red lust as he pulls Hugh to his mouth, his bloodied hand smoothing over Hugh's cheeks, ear and hair. Tongues fight, teeth crack against teeth, Mads doesn't merely kiss - he bites and savors. Hugh is heady from the taste of Mads' bloody, passionate kiss - he grabs Mads' hand and licks at the cut while he looks Mads' directly in the eye. Mads bites his lip, but cannot keep the roar clenched inside - he exhales, his moan transformed into something animal, something unchecked, unsafe… Hugh is far from finished though.

This is the darkness they only hint at during filming, this is beyond the fans, beyond the script, beyond anything the two of them could dream of. Hugh, a strong man, made of muscle and beauty, holds tightly to his friend's hand and makes sure his friend sees how deep his tongue goes into the wound itself. Hugh licks at the slit in Mads' hand until Mads nearly passes out, and as the Danish man falls backwards on to the Turkish carpeted floor of what everyone knows as HANNIBAL'S OFFICE, Hugh sits on top of him and rips his own shirt off. Beneath him, Mads smiles like a drunk, licking at his teeth.

Hugh manages to get his pants off, while Mads unzips his fly. A bloodied hand on a strong, long cock - he strokes himself larger. Mads is a tall man and his cock represents - just as Hugh had imagined it would. Hugh stands up, hovers above Mads. He says, "Let me watch you stroke that cock with that bloody hand. Do it."

Mads is already engaged in that very action, but watching Hugh from the underside makes the whole experience all the better. Hugh squats over Mads face and dangles his balls on Mad's bloody mouth.

"Now lick my balls with that bloody tongue."

Mads has no problem obliging, sucking both balls into his warm red mouth with ease. Hugh sidles down and sits upon Mads' stiff cock, slowly, slow and tight, slowly, clenching, all very smoothly. As he starts rocking and powering his ass around Mads' cock, he feels wanton, brutal…aggressive. He lifts his arms behind his head in a narcissistic strut of flex and armpit hair, and before Mads can spread his arms out to his side, like an angel fallen from the skies, Hugh laces into him with open handed slaps across the face. Back handing hard…his slaps turn to punches, yet the angel on the floor only smiles, occasionally coughing up blood, never wiping his face once. Hugh Dancy came with Mads Mikkelsen's cock inside him, the man himself not yet finished off, yet beatific in his adoration of the smaller man who sits atop him.

Writhing and wriggling as if in a fever, Hugh sits there, on Mads' cock, spent but not yet collapsed. He closes his eyes and basks.

That is all it took. Mads had been waiting for Hugh's eyes to close, for his guard to weaken, for his strength to seep out. The angel that was Mads is now the demon of speed and thrash. With Hugh still mounted on him, he throws his friends' body backwards. Hugh, jarred awake finds himself suddenly on the Turkish rug, Mads above him, Mads inside him - fucking his ass, hard - how did this happen so fast, he wonders? Mads cock hurt, at this angle, Hugh is no longer in control. Both men, covered in blood, both bruised and aching…the weight of Mads on top of Hugh, the banging of their chests, sweat drenching their body hair, blood covering their faces making their eyes glisten in their whiteness, and Mads…Mads plunging so deeply into Will's ass that the both of them shake in fear of whatever may come, and as it rises, as the base of Mads' cock feels like it's made of granite, as his balls contract and swell, as he bends to kiss Hugh, to tell him with his eyes that he loves him, loves him, that he dies for his love, that every minute of their time together iss blood magick, sacrificial, sweet…sweet - as the semen builds and rises high, as the heat and vibration melds with the sound of Hugh's harsh, raw, desirous breathing, as the two men lay on the floor of HANNIBAL'S OFFICE, Mads brings forth the scalpel, much to Hugh's delirious surprise.

Mads pours his life force into Hugh with his eyes, his cock and his body, and as he comes, he holds the scalpel before Hugh's eyes, and looking like a school boy who'd just been in a terrible scrap, he says to Hugh, "My turn."


End file.
